july 7 pnp
I kept= my post short yesterday because I wanted to work on the second chapter of something that I hope ends up at novella length before the end of the year.
Here's a bit of it:
The first time it happened, Kenny thought it was an accident.
He was sitting at the bar at his local minding his own business and reading a book. It was a Tuesday in the winter and the bar, all soft light, wood, and songs from the 70s, was a welcome contrast to the dry, biting cold outside. It was slow. Mason was behind the bar polishing glasses. A few other patrons were interspersed throughout the place, not too close to or far away from each other. Kenny noticed this and thought of how he'd arrange his pieces when he played Battleship as a child.
Eventually a man walked in. Tall, middle-aged, well put-together, handsome but not pretty. Kenny gave the man the once over and returned to his book. The man gave the room the once over and then walked over to a seat at the bar a few down from Kenny.
"Mind if I sit here?" the man asked.
Kenny looked up at the stranger and went to work observing. He was probably around 55. His outfit was Cary Grant but he had a little bit of Robert Redford in his eyes too. He seemed charming and affable but also like he was capable of tremendous cruelty. Whatever work this man did, it was about winning and losing. But was he working now? There was no logical reason to ask a stranger this question unless you were starting a conversation, and Kenny couldn't shake the feeling that the man was there to see him. Still, he resisted the urge to say something glib like "it's a free country" and went with dumb and friendly instead.
"Yeah man, go ahead," he replied. It was a mixed message on purpose. The man had asked if Kenny minded, and in his response Kenny said that he did, but also that he didn't. The goal was to make the stranger feel comfortable and superior. "I mean, uh, no, not at all." Kenny punctuated his act with a sheepish grin and went back to his book. He had read less a paragraph before the man spoke again.
"This is a nice place. I've never been here but I've walked by it a lot." Something about the way he said it was wrong and Kenny went on the offensive.
"Oh? That's odd."
"Why?"
He turned to face the man. He wasn't being outwardly aggressive, but he wanted to push at the walls to see if the room expanded.
"If you've walked by this bar a lot it's odd that I haven't seen you, around, walking by this bar a lot. Most days I'm here, sitting in the window seat, or at my place, nearby, where I can see this bar out my window." Kenny was lying. He lived a long block away and only sat in the window if he had to. The man smiled a cagey smile and then responded.
"I've been walking by in the morning on the way to the subway. My daughter moved in around the corner and I told my wife I'd stay with her for a few weeks. I've been taking the subway to work."
"If your wife's so worried, why doesn't your daughter stay at home?"
"Hmm?" The man was not distracted but he was pretending he was. He was stalling for time to think, and the best way to get some time was to force someone else to fill the silence. Kenny obliged. It had become a game, and Kenny liked games.
"If your wife is worried, your daughter is young. If she's young, she's likely at school, and if you're staying with her, around the corner, and you walk by this bar every morning to catch the subway, you're local. Why not get her to stay at home if your wife is worried?"
"I didn't say my wife was worried."
"She is though, right?"
The man paused, thought about it, and then smirked a "you got me" smirk.
"She is, yes." That he said "yes" rather than "yeah" felt important. "If it were up to me, our daughter would be staying at home. But she wants the experience. She wants the independence." He used finger quotes on "experience" and "independence" and rolled his eyes a bit. This guy was good, but it didn't escape Kenny's notice that the man didn't mention his daughter's name, or what street she lived on, or where she went to school, or what she was studying, or where in the city he and his wife lived, or which direction he took the subway, or where in the city he worked, or what he did.
"But you don't think she's ready for it?"
"Were you?"
There it was. The man's mask had slipped, if only a bit. He hit the "you" a bit too hard, which made it seem like an accusation and not a question. This man had been told something.
Okay, that's enough sharing for now. I need to get back to my stories.
🌲 gonna
🌼 go
🌱 touch watch
🌳 grass Cross (S2)
🌷 now
Be good to yourself.
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